


Never Admit That I Was Wrong

by Potato (nerdclubcosplay)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed III, Assassin's Creed III Spoilers, Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag Spoilers, Blood, Broken Families, Character intentions, Death, Doesn't quite line up with Haytham lore but I had to write it, Family Issues, Gen, Getting inside a character's head, Haytham Kenway is an asshole, I like that an already established tag is "Haytham Kenway Being An Asshole", Major Spoilers, Regret, So much angst, Spoilers, Stolen dialogue from AC3, We all know that he's trash but we love him anyway, do not read if this will upset you pls, this is your warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 18:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdclubcosplay/pseuds/Potato
Summary: Haytham Kenway is dying by his son's blade, so he doesn't have much time to think. Hell awaits, and he knows he was wrong. He'll never admit that he was wrong.(Scene stolen from Sequence 11 of Assassin's Creed 3. This is just getting inside Haytham's head a little as the whole thing is going down. Not necessarily what I think ACTUALLY went on in Haytham's head, but just an idea...)





	Never Admit That I Was Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, I totally didn't come up with the scene, and the dialogue is all the actual dialogue that happens in-game. This is just my exploration of what I think might've gone on in Haytham's head if he reflected on his life while dying. I'm bad at editing my own work, so I'm sorry for any typos and grammatical mistakes.

Haytham’s pulse was erratic, betraying his cool exterior. The sting of metal in his neck was hot and uncomfortable, but surprisingly welcome. This was how this was supposed to end. He looked down at his son, who was also bleeding out in the dirt, with his eyes devoid of any familial fondness. He received the same cold stare in return.

“Don’t think I have any intention of caressing your cheek and saying I was wrong,” he spat, eyes narrowing, from anger or blood loss, he did not know. “I will not weep, and wonder what might have been. I’m sure you understand.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton did understand. Haytham could see it in the way his posture didn’t ease as he sat up, still carrying the same rigid, dutiful look as always. That small gesture hurt more than the gushing wound that would end his life. Though, that wasn’t saying much, as Haytham’s body was already shutting down and the shock of it all drove away the physical pain.

Oh, how Haytham would have fought and killed to keep his father alive. But he was tormented his whole life by his father’s death, at the hands of those his own son now swore to. How would Edward have seen the situation?

Haytham speculated that his father, in his place now, would have let flow the heavy regret and sadness he always carried in his eyes. Haytham had once seen a page of one of his father’s journals, upon it was a drawing of a dark-haired woman that Haytham had never seen. He later found her name to be Mary Read, though he’d never connected her to anything else except someone his father treasured in the past. Edward wouldn’t have been able to take the final betrayal of being killed by his own son. However, Haytham Kenway was no tiny bit similar to Edward Kenway. 

He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but nothing came out. Behind the pitiful figure of his dying son, he saw another man. If Haytham believed in ghosts, he’d say it was his own father from many years before he was born. His ocean-blue eyes flashed with something dangerous, like the sun would glint off a blade. Haytham wondered if he ever had the same sparkle in his eyes. 

Haytham would not admit aloud that he had been deceived. His childhood home never carried insignia of any kind, so he would not know for sure until he reunited with his father in Hell. Perhaps it was that his son made the right choice where he did not. 

Haytham was once a man certain in his purpose, but the circumstances of his death led him to falter.

“Still, I’m proud of you, in a way,” he started, overly aware of his pulse evening and slowing. “You’ve shown great conviction, strength, courage. All noble qualities.”  _ Qualities I thought were leading me to justice. _

He realized his son was easing, as if the words he had been speaking all along, albeit in his own way, were finally getting through. If he truly was wrong about where the family’s loyalties sat, he could not allow his son’s drive to falter. Though it broke what little shriveled lump of a heart he had left, he added one final statement.

“I should’ve killed you long ago.”

That was all it took to undo the softness of his praise.

Haytham could not keep his eyes open any longer, and his other senses started to fade out. He was surrounded by the metallic stench of his own blood, and that was about all he could discern about the world around him anymore. The chill of the night air no longer affected him. He heard only one thing before his ears failed too.

“ Ó:nen:ki’wáhi, rake’níha,” he heard his son say. And in his hazy half-conscious state, he understood.

_ “Goodbye, father.” _

Maybe it was Ziio’s spirit connecting their hearts in death that allowed him to understand, or maybe he was making up what he wanted to hear. Either way, he had no time to think about it before the darkness enveloped him and he let go of the thread he was holding so tightly to.

 

_ I do not expect forgiveness, but I regret what I’ve done. _

_ I will not forgive you. _

_ That is all? _

_ Yes, I have nothing else to say to you, Haytham. _

_ But you will watch our son, and ensure that he takes the right path? _

_ He is  _ my  _ son, and he will. His feet are certain and his heart is pure. _

_ Then that is all I can ask for.  _

_ Are you still too stubborn to admit that you were wrong? _

_ We will see who was wrong when I take the Devil’s hand. _


End file.
